


This Muddle as a Picture

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fond aftermath of a close call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Muddle as a Picture

They don't talk on the drive home – there's nothing to say after so close a call, both of them smelling of smoke, of cordite. Danny's shoulder burns – stupid, stupid fall – and when he flexes his fingers, his tendons are sore, ligaments unhappy, the heel of his thumb pink and grazed. At least he didn't drop his gun, he thinks, a small satisfaction; at least he pulled up awkwardly, took aim and fired, put a bullet in the bastard's knee and gave Steve the chance to – he sighs at the thought of it – kick the fucker in the head. "I vote," he says when they pull into Steve's driveway, "for a beer. And for me to look at that cut on your face."

Steve puts the car in park, turns off the engine. "It's fine."

"It's not fine." They're speaking softly, cordially, like this is a cocktail party, like they're other people, strangers, like they've only just met.

"It's fine," Steve repeats, getting out of the car, but it's not like this isn't Danny's home as well – wherever McGarrett thinks he's going, Danny's one, maybe two steps behind.

"You got blood on your shirt, okay?" he says, shutting the front door behind them, and fuck the world and its security codes. "You got blood on your shirt and I – " _can see you going down_ he finishes to himself, rubs his hand across his mouth to keep the words in. Steve says nothing; Danny looks up to find him watching, expression wide open – he looks wrecked, half terrified. "Shit," Danny whispers, heart twisting in his chest. "What are we even – "

And Steve crosses over to him, frames his face with stupid, grime-streaked hands, kisses him hard and shivers when Danny kisses him back.

There's no doubt where this is headed, hasn't been since – but Danny isn't thinking about that, won't give those assholes at the dock another second of his time. Danny knew – that's enough – that this is where they'd end up, staggering up the stairs, shoving each other against walls, the door frame to the bedroom, stripping each other of shirts and ties and boxers and pants. Danny knew he'd fumble to find lube and a condom, knew he'd press both into Steve's hand, say, "I want – " that his voice would be unsteady, knew Steve's kiss would turn dangerous, that his hands would shake.

Danny keens at the press of Steve's fingers, meets Steve's mouth, cants his hips and breathes into the kiss. He dodges the image of Steve with a gun to his temple, the sound of Kono's voice becoming static on his headset, the scuff of footsteps behind him and the sudden, clean force of his dread. Steve kisses his palm, the graze at his thumb, and Danny grits his teeth, says, "Now. C'mon," because he wants Steve inside him, pressure and warmth; over him, breathing, near, and safe.

It's graceless and clumsy but good, so good. Steve rocks his hips, takes Danny in his hand, and Danny wets his lips, lifts his head to watch his cock slip through Steve's fingers, to match the swipe of Steve's callused thumb with the way that it looks. " _God_ ," he whines helplessly, lets his head fall back against the pillow, closes his eyes, lets sensation rush in to fill the void – sweat at his temple; Steve smelling worn and tired. He kisses Danny's shoulder, and Danny shudders at the panic and pleasure that rips through his gut. " _Steve_ ," he manages, tries to arch to get closer, feels his orgasm jackknife through him and drags his eyes open to see himself come. Steve stills inside him, pauses with a groan, and Danny gasps, too hot, the edges of everything blurring, _too much, too much_. Then Steve gathers himself, shoves hard back inside him, and Danny's stretched wide, lit up, thighs trembling as Steve pushes in, but Steve's the one looking desperate, a little wild, arms shaking as he thrusts. "I got you," Danny pants, lifting his hand with effort to touch Steve's jaw. "I got you, it's okay, I got you, babe." And Steve closes his eyes, frowns as if in pain, grimaces and groans, jerks inside him, comes.

They rest, breathing hard, a tangle of limbs. When Steve shifts to pull away, Danny has to stop himself from grabbing hold, keeping him in place and he throws an arm across his eyes, embarrassed, raw. He weathers the tilt and dip of the mattress, the barely-there sound of the condom coming off. A closet door snicks; there's the sound of running water, and Danny flinches when Steve comes back, roused from his thoughts by the touch of a washcloth against his skin. He lets his arm fall back against the mattress, watches Steve swipe gently at his balls, his ass. "C'mere," he manages eventually, too full up with something to stand it any longer. "I can't – I need. You fucker, you almost _died_."

And Steve crawls in beside him, noses at Danny's ear, ghosts kisses against Danny's throat. "I thought you'd – " He stops, and Danny watches the muscles in his jaw clench and release.

"We're okay," Danny whispers, thumbing at Steve's bottom lip, and he kisses him gently, hums when Steve's tongue touches his. Steve grows loose and heavy beside him, hand splayed at the small of Danny's back, and Danny presses in as close as he's able, steals reassurance from Steve's willing mouth. "This," he murmurs, as Steve strokes his spine; it's this lazy touch that he craved; this that grounds him; these soft kisses that he needed most of all.


End file.
